The joint chiefs and the rest of the room had taken the president’s lead and listened to Admiral Hamilton and the White House science advisor as they explained the next stage of their plan. As the opinion of the room had swung in their favor, they had eventually agreed that the launching of the shielded GBMDs was, if not desirable, then at the very least a valid next step to take when the scale of the threat was laid before them.

The admiral had not been surprised when, once the president was convinced, the hardest thing had not been mobilizing the rest of the joint chiefs, but holding them back. With one satellite even then flying over the western US, they had wanted to launch immediately and then wait for the next two to come around in order to fire on them as well. It had even seemed like they might get their way until the colonel had stepped in, producing a piece of the superconducting material they had used for the missile shields. He had conducted a brief demonstration of the shield’s phenomenal properties with the drill he had brought for just this purpose, and the room had been silent as the unscathed plate was handed around the table.

His demonstration was followed with an explanation of how thick the satellites’ version of this plating was, compared with how few of their missiles were clad in the alien armor. It had served its purpose, and the joint chiefs had agreed to the more concerted effort the team had planned for.

Preparations for the next phase were not limited to the US, though. As the other members of their pan-global conspiracy waited through the seemingly endless hours of respite before the main battle, one of their ranks was getting his way by far more nefarious means.

* * *

John Hunt knocked on the captain’s cabin door with one hand, his other holding a tray with a cup of hot chocolate steaming happily. For the marine guard stationed permanently at the captain’s door, this was the hardest time of the day. It wasn’t that he had a sweet tooth, per se, but the smell of that chocolate getting delivered each evening was simply torture. Why didn’t they give that stuff out to the ratings? I mean, they got hot chocolate, but it was out of a sachet. The captain got the real thing.

John looked at the guard and smiled wryly. Poor guy, you wouldn’t want what’s in this mug, trust me. But still he smiled at the marine and gave the man his best ‘woe is me’ eye roll. The barked order to enter came through the metal cabin door and Lieutenant Hunt followed it. Captain Prashant always liked to keep people waiting for a second to establish his control over the situation, even when those people were bringing him his daily dose of the only vice he really allowed himself.